


Five (5) times Isak and Even found each other, in different universes.

by AnonymousPoet



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Parallel Universes, they always find each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9171664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousPoet/pseuds/AnonymousPoet
Summary: Because it doesn't matter in what universe, they are always going to find each other, and fall in love. It doesn't matter in what universe, or how they came to be: there is an infinite number of Isak and Even laying together, in infinite time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, after posting a 5+1 starring Isak and weed, I thought that I needed to let some Evak out of my system...so this was born. It's kinda stupid, kinda wish I did more. You should have seen me with my little notebook, listing AUs and crossing them out till I got my favorite five. 
> 
> It's just...they would always find each other. Please pay attention to dates&places.
> 
> Again, English is not my first language (and people like to tease me for it) so please don't be too harsh on me.

 

 

 

****

 

“How many Isak and Even are lying like this, right now?”

 

 

 

**_______**

 

 

 

**(1)**

 

 **11** **th** **of September 2019; Manchester.**

 

“Hello, welcome to Grace's Cafe. How can I help you today?”

 Isak tears his red, tired gaze away from the paper in his hands, which he was reading voraciously. On the little table in front of him, he previously unceremoniously dumped all of his stuff (which mainly consists of paper, paper, books, brightly-coloured highlighters, and more paper).

 “Can I have a latte? Make it a double shot please.” He is now eyeing the little window next to the counter, and more specifically all the goodies displayed in there. “And...uh” he takes a little break, wetting his chapped lips with the tip of his pink tongue. Only in that moment he finally moves his gaze towards the guy taking his order (which, woah, _rude_ ) and, yeah, he doesn't think he can finish the sentence anymore.

 Cause, uh, the guy is fucking gorgeous. So gorgeous Isak's staring right at him, mouth slightly agape and cheek's flushed, instead of finishing his order. Gorgeous Waiter Guy looks mildly amused, and wiggles his eyebrows at him. “Yeah?” he inquires.

 “Uhm, yeah...” Isak clears his throat. “I'd like one of those chocolate muffins as well, uh, please” he lastly manages to get out. And if Gorgeous Waiter Guy noticed his stuttering, or the way his ears suddenly turned bright fucking red, he doesn't say anything about it. He, instead, finishes to write his order down on a little yellow notebook and smiles at him.

 “Coming right up” he says, and _oh my god_ , is that a wink?

 Isak totally doesn't have trouble concentrating on his work after Gorgeous Waiter Guy is gone. He totally does not keep on stealing glances to the counter, where he is intently making his coffee. And he is not -and I repeat- he is _not_ imagining three kids, a Labrador and a double-story house.

 Also, he is not utterly disappointed when instead of Gorgeous Waiter Guy, a curvy brunette brings him his coffee and his food.

 After he checks seven more pages of his first dissertation draft and he finishes his muffin, he decides it's time to get home. So he shoots a last look to Gorgeous Waiter Guy (which is now laughing with a colleague, and _god_ does his smile light up the entire fucking room) and gathers up all of his stuff: in his right hand, the cup of his almost-cold coffee.

 It's only when he is two blocks away from the Cafè, that he realizes something is scribbled on the paper cup.

 

_07 677 111 111_

  * _-Even._




 

 

 

**(2)**

 

**4 th of March 2020; Chicago.**

 

“Finally you're here. Kid doesn't want to talk without his attorney present” The detective is scruffy, rough-looking, all beer belly and long beard. Even looks at him unfazed, merely raising an eyebrow at the way in which he speaks.

 “Well, kid is right. Give me five minutes with him, then you can continue” Even's tone is professional, straight to the point, as he steps over the guy without looking at him twice and opens the door to the tiny interrogation room.

 “Good afternoon, Mr. Valtersen. My name is Mr. Bech Næsheim, and I'm the attorney at law your father hired on your case” he practically steps further into the grey-ish looking room, extending an hand so that his client can shake it: when he does, Even can't help but notice how the inside of his slim wrist contrasts so nicely with the metal handcuffs he is in, and how strong and firm his handshake actually is. Now that he looks at him, despite his hair being tangled in a mess of dirt and blood, the huge-ass purple bruise on the left side of his face and the cut on his lower lip, the boy surely does look pretty for a thug. _Delicate_ , maybe.

 And _maybe_ it's not really his place to make those kinds of considerations, since it would _definitely_ be conflict of interests.

 “Well, Isak...can I call you Isak?” He asks, confidently, taking a seat in front of the boy, across the metal table in the middle of the room. When the boy graces him with so much as a small nod, he continues “You are being charged with Common Assault, which normally accounts for up to two years imprisonment. However, if you can tell me why you thought it was a smart idea to smash a dude's face against a letterbox, I may be able to build a defense and offer substantial advice.”

 The tone is not sarcastic, and it does not want to be particularly caustic, but the boy lowers his gaze onto his handcuffed wrists, embarrassed, and clears his throat. His fingers are fidgeting. Thinking about it again, he does not act like a thug either, which is definitely not what he was expecting when he got the call.

 “Uh, the...the guy” Isak starts, his voice low and sweet. “He was...kicking this puppy...like, really hard” the boy raises his gaze, he fixates it into Even's eyes, as he scoffs. “And that's fucked up, you don't hurt puppies”.

  _Oh._ So much for the thug, uh?

 “So I yelled at him to stop, I shoved him away from the poor thing and he got mad. He pushed me, I pushed him...and then I lost control of the situation”. Even nods seriously, a kind of pride growing in his chest. He could work with that, definitely. He flashes a small smile at the boy, who shifts in his seat. “Okay, so I'll tell you what is going to happen. In a couple of minutes the detective is going to come back in, and he will question you. You don't answer to any of the questions besides your full name and age, I'll answer them for you. Then, I'll work on getting you out of a jail sentence, okay?”

 Isak nods, his teeth biting his lower lip into his mouth. Even then gets up of the chair to call the detective back in and ask for a third chair, when he gets stopped by the boy's soft voice. “Thanks” he says, bashfully looking down again.

 “It's my job, kid.” he says, and he means it. Too bad that he cannot wait to fucking _win this case already_ , because he wants this boy to be handcuffed in a way more pleasurable way...in his bedroom.

  _And that would totally be conflict of interests._

 

 

 

**(3)**

 

**5 th Moon Cycle year 234 after the Cold War; Marina County.1**

 

“More wine, your majesty?” the voice comes from a tiny girl with blonde braided hair, who stands next to him with a full jug in her white hands. Her voice is so feeble he would not have been able to hear it, if only she wasn't so close to him.

“Yes, thank you” he replies, distractedly extending the hand holding his chalice. The room is extremely crowded, the wooden boards on the floor squeaking and shrieking under the weight of the entire court, plus monarchs of near and far counties. Everyone is fairly loud, chatting and drinking to exhaustion, the air heavily impregnated with the distinct scent of wine and smoke from the fireplaces scattered around the room.

Even just observes the room, scanning the situation. Drunk kings, annoyed queens, princes and princesses slumming it with the help, servers pouring wine. Then, he turns to his wife, next to him. She's doing the same thing, looking across the room searching for familiar faces, or at least someone to meet and greet. “Tell me one more time, darling, whose was this idea?” he asks, obviously hinting at the room full of people.

His wife, bless her soul, gives him a beautiful smile before replying “Your mother's, my love.” Even rolls his eyes, bringing his free hand to lightly re-position the heavy, golden crown on his head. Then, he brings that same arm around his wife's waist, as she continues to talk. “And I do not think it is a bad idea, for a banquet is always the most excellent way to introduce a new prince into the world” as on cue, her left hand goes to stroke her very noticeable, seven-months-along baby bump.

He smiles fondly at her, before being interrupted by his father. “Son” he starts, getting his attention by placing a hand on his forearm. Even shifts and so does Sonja -his wife- so that they can face the King.

“Father” Even replies, bowing his head respectfully.

“I want to introduce you to Queen Ana and King Tarjei of Valtersen, rulers of the Montagna2 County, and their first-born son, Prince Isak.” And Even is sure the bow he gives is just a little unsteady because for the sake of the Queen Soldier of the Wind, Mother of all Gods, _the boy is handsome_.

And not just handsome: for he is sure every poet of the realm could ever describe in a way that is accurate enough the length of his black eyelashes, the slope of his tiny nose, the bow of his rosy lips, the color of his perfect skin. For no painter could ever capture his essence, so magical and ethereal.

He looks like the brightest of the stars in the summer sky, like evanescent sea foam, like the prettiest flower of the whole Royal Gardens. The urge of taking the Prince to his rooms, undress him of his silk clothes and watch him open up and fall apart on his enormous bed (and _oh_ , his pale skin would make the prettiest contrast against the maroon sheets) is tugging at his skin. He is burning up.

“It is a pleasure to finally be at your presence, Prince Even” the boy says in a melodious voice, and he can just mutter a shaky “Likewise” before Prince Isak is being pulled away from him, into another conversation. Even his father seems to have disappeared somewhere with the boy's parents.

He cannot stop to look at him, though, even across the room, for the duration of the night - as his eyes cannot seem to detach from Isak's lean figure.

“Are you going to take him to bed, darling?” his wife asks approximately an hour later, her voice soft as honey and her hands on her bump. She must have noticed.

“I surely hope so, love” he replies, not surprised at all by the question “he is beautiful”

“I will be sure to retrieve to my rooms then, I would not want to disturb you” she complies, tranquil, shifting her attention back to her unborn child.

And she had a good idea, for if she would not have done so she would have had to hear the screams of pleasure of his husband, fucking a Prince like the filthiest of whores, senseless, into the mattress.

 

 

 

 

**(4)**

 

**1 st of June 1942; Bir Haikeim.3**

 

“Simple Soldier, gunshot wound, stomach. It seems to be already infected, he must have been laying in the dirt for quite some time before they brought him in” Eva is saying rapidly, as a good nurse would do, briefing him on the conditions of the soldier. “He is miraculously still conscious, but he has lost a lot of blood so status may change rapidly.”

Isak is focused, so focused, slipping a pair of gloves on and listening to his friend whilst walking as fast as he can towards the room in which they brought his next patient “Is he responsive?” he asks, frowning slightly. The hallways they are strolling through are full of people buzzing, nurses running around, soldiers moaning, groaning and shouting in pain. It smells like misery and death and _war_.

“Yes, at the moment, not for long” she purses her lips, leading him to the soldier's bed. “He is incredibly strong, though.”

Something that Isak can assess for himself, when he sees the soldier. His uniform is dirty with mud and blood and slashed open on his abdomen, where a very infected wound, still leaking with blood, is visible. And Isak has been a doctor for so little time, thrown in the horrors of the war because of the shortage of medical help, but his limited experience is enough to assess that the wound is mortal, and the infection is well on its way. There is nothing can do.

Despite everything, the soldier's striking blue eyes are open, as he follows Isak's figure and facial expressions with his weak gaze.

Isak mutters something to Eva, then, and she turns away to some other patient, bringing away with her the other two nurses that were fretting over the soldier's body. They all go to work on someone else. It's a lost cause.

“What is your name?” Isak asks the soldier, looking at him. He has to fight back tears, to not listen to the voices in his head.

“Even” the soldier whispers, faintly. “Am I going to die?” he then manages to ask, his magnificent eyes (so pure) fixated into the doctor's own. The question is so innocent and the tone so resigned and tranquil, it breaks his heart. He is sure he can hear it shattering.

Isak looks away, not being able to hold Even's gaze. “Yes” he says, simply. His chest feels hollow and void, his throat tight. _I can't save you_ , he wants to say. He doesn't.

“Okay” the soldier replies, blinking once, twice, slowly. The pain he is bearing must be incredible, but he is calm, does not show any signs of discomfort.

“Will you hold my hand while I die, please?”

He does, carefully intertwining his shaking fingers with the soldier's own cold fingers and waiting with him, in complete silence.

Even leaves peacefully twenty-six minutes later.

Isak untangles his fingers from the soldier's dead grip, then he calls over some nurses to take care of the body: only under Eva's sympathetic gaze, he realizes he's crying.

 

 

**(5)**

 

**24 th of July 2013, Oslo.**

 

“...and now, the news from the Royal Family, which recently had a new, joyous addition. Kelly on the lin-” Even pushes roughly on the radio button, silencing the cubicle of the car. He doesn't really care about some posh infant born into the monarchy, who is always going to be showered in attentions and money without actually having to do anything. His hands are on the steering wheel, and sometimes his long fingers tap lightly against it while he hums an unknown tune: from his outfit it's easy to infer that he is just back from work (an important financial job of some sort). He drives cautiously, calmly, not really looking forward to the moment in which he's going to step into his house (which is beautifully modern and functional, of course, but terribly empty and lonely).

He is so immersed in his own thoughts that he doesn't realize he has taken the wrong turn on the roundabout: nothing to worry about, he can still fix it by taking the longer route, but that brings him in a quite shabby, dingy part of town he doesn't usually hang around in. He makes sure that the car's doors are properly locked to avoid any nasty surprises, as he glances at the little digital clock.

20:58

It is quite late. After literally a couple minutes of turning, he starts to notice people scattered around the pavements, standing there and quite obviously staring at his nice, expensive, car. He knows what those people are doing -or, what are they waiting for- and he tells himself to just focus on the street ahead of him and _don't look_.

He looks. His eyes flicker for just a moment to his left, just a couple of meters before him, and there he sees him. The figure is leaning against the wall of a decadent-looking building, dimply lit by the yellowish light hailing from the street lamp next to him. He looks like an angel, or an evil tempter: despite the 17 degrees Celsius Oslo is sporting, the boy wears just a pair of black pants and a thin button up shirt, unbuttoned, open on the front.

The portion of skin on his chest and abdomen, left unveiled, seems smooth and soft. Pale, delicate. Even is conscious of the fact that he should get out of there and go home, but his eyes can't seem to detach from the lean figure of the prostitute, for some reason. And he doesn't know how or why, but suddenly his car stops next to the boy because, yeah, apparently he pulled up.

That is the cue for the prostitute to move a couple of steps towards him. Even wants to freak out, he realizes he's completely losing control of his actions altogether, but he can't go now. So, instead, he pulls down the window, and tries to look normal.

“Hi sexy” the prostitute says, placing his elbows on the window of the car. The words are seductive, but the tone with which he says them is monotone, void of emotions. Bored, almost. “Looking for fun?” he continues, latching his gaze with Even's, effortlessly.

“Yeah” is the breathless reply Even provides, and suddenly he's unlocking the doors, and the boy is _in his car. And he's driving away._

What is happening to him? He's never done that before, buying love, and he thought he would never do that either. So why is he behaving like this? He cannot even stand the thought of paying this boy and use him for his own pleasure. “Uh, what's you name?” he asks, because apparently that is really important, as he can't stand to keep on calling the guy “the prostitute” in his mind.

The guy shifts in the seat, before shooting him a funny glance. “My name is whatever you want it to be” . Even looks at him sideways, and notices the way in which the boy is rubbing his hands together. Without thinking about it, even if he doesn't feel cold, he turns on the heating.

He keeps on driving around, stopping and turning when he reaches an empty parking lot. When the car comes to a stop, the boy takes an hair tie out of his jeans' front pocket, and quickly ties his hair back into a bun. Then he leans towards a still freaking out Even, fingers expertly unzipping his fly.

And that's when he gets stopped. “No!” Even semi-shouts, snapping his hands away and pursing his lips.

The boy looks annoyed, frowning. “Are you wasting my time?” he asks, venom leaking out of every word.

“No!” again, is the quick reply, followed by a deep sigh. “Look...” he starts, fidgeting with his back pocket. “How much do you make per night?” he asks, surprising himself. He lifts his hips up from the seat, so that he can grab his wallet from above-said back pocket.

“A hundred euros” comes the guarded reply from the nameless boy. “But, look, if you want some freaky BDSM shit there's no price that can bribe me, okay? I don't do that shit” he continues, firmly.

Even, meanwhile, takes out seven bills from his wallet, everything he has in there at the moment. “That's three hundred and twenty euros” he claims, blinking once, twice, then latching his blue eyes with the endless green of the prostitute's ones. "It's yours. Go home tonight.” he pleads, pushing the money in the boy's direction.

The boy gapes at him, pushing himself back again the car door, scared. From his shocked expression it's clearly asking himself where the catch is, who's going to come out and punch him.

“Take them” Even urges again, voice firm. “Please.”

The boy then snatches the money out of Even's grip, shaking lightly. Then, he nods slowly, and gets out of the car. Before closing the door though, he bites his lower lip. “My name is Isak.”

It's 21:21

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Infinite”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! As always please leave a kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> Leave a comment down below saying what was your favorite universe, and maybe, MAYBE I could work on it a bit more??? Maybe I could try more universes??? I left some pretty good shit in my notebook. LET ME KNOW.
> 
> 1= Marina means basically the coast, the ocean, in Italian.  
> 2= Montagna means mountain.  
> 3= The battle of Bir Haikeim lasted from the 26th of May 1942 till the 21st of June.


End file.
